


time and time again

by panicatthealice



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26095465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panicatthealice/pseuds/panicatthealice
Summary: Everyday’s the same for Baz Pitch. Until, suddenly, everyday is literally the same.Alternatively, the one in which Baz gets stuck in a time loop and the only way for him to escape is to make Simon fall in love with him.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 32
Kudos: 91
Collections: Carry On Big Bang 2020





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this one has been a long time in the making. Almost a year, in fact. So you can imagine how I feel finally sharing it with the world. 
> 
> A massive thank you to [@annabellelux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabellelux/pseuds/annabellelux) and [@lotorilia](https://lotoliria.tumblr.com/) for being amazing betas. I owe both of you my soul. 
> 
> This was a work done for the Carry On Big Bang so it has accompanying artwork by the incredible @theravenpuffpandacorn (tumblr)/@stintinear (instagram). You can check out their amazing companion piece [here](https://theravenpuffpandacorn.tumblr.com/post/627365631017304064/stintinear-my-piece-for-the-carry-on-big-bang).

Simon’s gorgeous in the morning light. 

The golden rays are filtering through his hair and hitting his skin, making him glow like some sort of Greek god. I watch his arm rise up to pass his fingers through his hair. That means he’s done getting ready. It means I need to flit my eyes away before he catches me staring.

“That’s what you call tying a tie, Snow?” I sneer as he turns around to face me. (I don’t know why he bothers, it’s a Friday; Teachers don’t care as much about dress code on Fridays.)

He glares at me, but doesn’t reply. This Charming Man is playing softly from his phone.

“It looks like a shitty knot.”

“If it bothers you so much, fix it,” he shoots back.

I raise an eyebrow, pick up my wand and cast **crossing your i’s and dotting your t’s**. It’s a perfect windsor. It’s also out of character for me. 

“No wonder Wellbelove broke up with you. Merlin, it must be terrible dating you,” I lie. (The second part’s the lie at least; I’d love to date him.) “You can’t even tie a tie. Good luck with the Humdrum.” 

He growls, stuffing his phone into his back pocket, I follow his hand with my eyes. (Merlin, he’s fit.) “Do you ever quit? Can’t you be nice for ten seconds?” 

I smile, a twisted sort of smile at him, “No, I can’t.” _Because if I was nice to you, I’m not sure I could hide my absolute infatuation for you_.

He smiles back, a wry thing, raising his eyebrows like that American Bunce is dating does. (Is a two eyebrow raise an American thing?) “No wonder you’ve never had a girlfriend.” He says it as if he thinks he’s scoring some sort of low-blow at my ego. Well, he can wipe that smug grin off his perfect face. He’s the only one I’ve ever wanted. (Well, unless you count that crush I had on Professor Hallow third year, or that three second crush I had on Niall fifth year. But we’re not counting that.)

“You don’t know that,” I sneer, standing up, passing my hand over my head to make sure it’s slicked back. I don’t bother with hair spells anymore, I’ve got slicking my hair back down to an art. Plus, if anything flies free I’ll cast **as you were**. Sure, it’s a waste of magic, but it’s for a good cause. 

“I do,” he sneers back, “no one with that hair has ever scored a girlfriend before.” 

“Sure they have. When was the last time you looked in a mirror?” He ruffles it, passing his fingers through his hair,.“If you can do it, anyone can.”

He huffs, throwing one last glare at me before shouldering his backpack. 

“You’re just jealous Aggie’s never liked you,” he spits out. I’m split between laughing at how wrong he is or vomiting because that’s the most disgusting nickname I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth.

I settle on a smirk and an eyebrow raise, but don’t respond.

That seems to bother him more than a response. He knows that when I’m quiet it doesn’t mean he’s won; it means I’ve won. 

“You’re so fucking annoying,” he says, and shuts the door behind him. 

I sigh.

I’m in love with an idiot. 

-

“You look chipper,” comments Niall, biting into a scone as I take a seat across from him and Dev. Well, I don’t even know if I should even be considering Dev a part of the table. 

His mind’s always where Wellbelove is. Well, more so ever since he heard the Snow-Wellbelove break was permanent.

Niall seems to read my mind and elbows Dev in the ribs. He holds nothing back.

“Oi, twat!” Dev says, punching Niall in the arm. 

Niall groans, “cunt.”

“You interrupted me,” Dev shoots back. 

Honestly, it’s as if I’m not even here sometimes. I could say anything and they wouldn’t notice. 

“I _saved_ you,” Niall corrects, suddenly oblivious to my presence. 

“I murdered Simon,” I say casually, taking a sip of what everyone considers oversweet coffee. (I think it’s fine, thank you very much.)

They don’t even look up. In the span of three seconds, they’d somehow moved on from Dev’s depressing love life (but, honestly. Who are Niall and I to talk?) to The Mother of Dragons and The Bastard of the North. 

“I drink cactus water,” I try. A passing fifth year gives me a funny look. I glare at her and she rolls her eyes. Anyone over third year is used to the Simon and Baz clan dynamics at this point. They usually stop treating Simon like a celebrity by Christmas of their first year, and they stop treating me like a villain by their second year. So, it’s no surprise no one’s really intimidated by the lot of us at this point. They just know to keep their distance. (They’re not thick enough to try to become our friends. Well, there was Phillipa, but she was Simon-level thick.)

“I’m going to wear a bucket on my head for the rest of the year.”

Nothing.

“Game of Thrones is absolute rubbish.” (A lie, in my opinion. But, it gets their attention, so I clock it up as an absolute win.)

Dev narrows his eyes at me and leans forward, bracing himself on the table as he does, “what are you playing at?” Niall shakes his head at me in disapproval, his eyes laced with disgust.

I stare at them for a whole two seconds. Before I burst out laughing. 

“Crowley,” I brace my fingertips against my temple, chuckling. “It’s as if I’d just told you Wellbelove was a lesbian.”

“I-” Dev sputters. “She’s what?”

“Jesus,” Niall mutters. “Move on, mate.” 

“I’m joking,” I clarify, for Dev’s sake. “I think I am, anyways. Now, if you lads don’t mind, I’m off to class.”

Niall glances at his watch, “We still have an hour until Greek.”

I tap my temple, “Time’s a wasting, gentlemen.”

“Nerd,” Dev snorts.

“Twat,” Niall supplies, and suddenly they’re back at it. Honestly, it’s as if they were made for each other. 

As I’m stood, watching Dev and Niall argue, I catch movement in the corner of my eye. Golden haired movement, like a fucking Golden Retriever.

Merlin. I can’t catch a break, can I?

-

“What do you want?” I ask Simon, as I duck into an alcove in the library. It seemed like the right place to go. Really, I was planning on wandering the halls until class started, but Simon’s like a bloody Bloodhound. (Ha.)

Plans ruined, I suppose. Good thing I can improvise. 

He ducks in after me and grabs me by the tie. This is new.

“What did you do?” Simon grits out, pulling my tie taut. I’d choke if I weren’t a vampire. (Increased lung capacity. Honestly, I don’t carry the football team just with my thighs.) (I could though; I’m quite fit. Ask anyone.)

I have no idea what he’s on about, but I’ll play along, I suppose. “Well, let’s see,” I stroke my chin, thoughtfully, “I woke up, had some breakfast-”

Simon pulls me down so that our eyes are level. It’s not doing any favors for my neck or back. “What. Did. You. Do.”

I roll my eyes, yanking myself out of his grip. He may be strong, but I’m a vampire. (Not that he’d let me forget it.) “You’re going to have to be more specific,” I raise an eyebrow, purely because I know it bothers him that he can’t. (Trust me, I caught him making faces at himself in the mirror once our second year. I never let him live it down). 

“You took my cross when you tied my tie,” he snarls. “Where is it, you fucking vampire!”

I want to punch him. He’s such an idiot.

I recoil, glaring at him. “I have no interest in disrupting your religious beliefs, Snow. Honestly, even if I was a vampire, you’d be thick to come after me _crossless_ because you think I stole your cross? Anyone with two brain cells would-”

Then, _he_ punches _me_.

Straight in the nose. I make a mental note to mention the possibility of starting a boxing club to Dev. However, that thought didn’t come much later to me, as in the moment, I only had two thoughts: ‘I’m going to end this idiot’ and ‘Fuck!’.

I do the only thing I can. I punch him back. Straight in the nose. Bugger.

“Now,” I growl, “we match,” wiping what I suspect is blood, from under my nose. I glance down at my hand. My suspicions are correct. The only thing that comforts me is the stream of blood running from his nose. 

Until my fangs drop.

“The only thing you two outmatch each other at is being idiots,” says a voice from behind me. I inhale deeply, and let it out. Fuck, my nose hurts. 

Professor Hollow. 

It’s going to take a lot more than Merlin and Morgana to get me out of this one.

-

I managed to get my fangs under control by the time we got to Professor Hollow’s office for the most awkward intervention I’ve ever been in. I was half convinced he’d make us go around introducing ourselves. ‘Hi, my name’s Simon Snow, and I’ve been in hate with Baz Pitch ever since I can remember.'

It ended up being so much worse.

“Now, as a great magician once said, sticks and stones may break my bones-”

“But chains and whips excite me,” Simon finishes, oblivious to what utter twaddle he’s just said. “I don’t understand what Rihanna has to do with this.”

Professor Hollow pauses, mouth agape and flicks his eyes to me, as if expecting some sort of explanation. 

I raise an eyebrow at him. The effect is dulled by my swollen nose, but I think I got the gist across. _Yes, he really is this thick, no I’m not responsible nor can I do anything to change him. Believe me, I’ve tried_. 

He nods, resigned. “Look, what I’m trying to say is,” he splays his palms, as if that will make our rivalry disappear, “why do you fight?”

Oh. I wasn’t expecting that. I was expecting some bullshit conclusion about violence never being the answer or some reference to school rules. I suppose Professor Hollow has always been a sort of an oddity.

I flick my eyes between Professor Hollow and Simon. He’s doing the same. We lock eyes, and I shit you not, this will go down in history as the most awkward ten seconds of eye contact Simon and I have ever partaken in. Possibly because we’re both being asked to examine our rivalry closely. Perhaps on an emotional level. And Merlin knows I wouldn’t bare my heart if you held a literal stake to it.

“Because,” Simon trails off, frowning. “We’re supposed to?” It comes out as a question. I was thinking along the same lines, but I agree; It sounds stupid out loud. 

“Really?” Professor Hollow says. I can physically feel him going into teacher mode. Being in a room with those I consider to be the most attractive people in Watford is not doing me any favors, especially when said room is one of those people’s office. “Says who?”

_Fiona_ , my brain supplies. I’m fairly certain she’s what kickstarted our rivalry. Even my father has never gone so far as to suggest I “deck the cunt.” Fiona’s words, not mine. ' _Society_ ' is my brain’s second suggestion. Equally as bad. No need to sound like an anarchistic twat around two of the three people I’d ever considered a love interest. (Come to think of it, Niall definitely doesn’t count.) 

“Mr. Pitch,” Professor Hollow says, prompting me to answer. I don’t know why he bothers with the formalities. I’ve accidentally called him Charlie dozens of times. 

“We fight because we’re going to have to eventually.” It’s the truth as far as I’m concerned.

He frowns, Simon looks as if he agrees. Merlin, Simon and I are agreeing. What the fuck is going on.

“Says who? You’re both young, handsome lads.” Where’s _this_ going? “Why not give being mates a try?”

I scoff. “Un-” _fucking_ “likely.” Simon crosses his arms and frowns. Crowley, is he making him go through some epiphany. Is he going to try being my friend? Merlin’s beard, what did I do to deserve this.

“It’s not me,” Simon says, pointing at himself. “It’s him.” He points at me, glaring. 

“Is that so?” Charlie gives me a pointed eyebrow raise. Why does everyone raise their eyebrows here? “Why, Baz?” he looks genuinely curious, and I’m about ready to throw myself out the window. 

“Because I hate him,” I lie, trying to put venom behind my words. “Please, can I just take the detention?” I look out the window, just so I don’t have to face Simon or Professor Hollow. I can see students milling on the lawn, putting their books away. Crowley, we’ve been here for possibly more than a half hour.

The bastard smiles. “Of course,” he pulls out a notepad and scribbles out two passes. “Your _detention_ is to come back here tomorrow, two PM sharp. Or anytime within a five minute radius. Afternoon, lads. I think we’re done here.”

-

I’m off kilter for the rest of the day. 

I’m mad, too. Frustrated. I didn’t spend seven years of my life building an I-Hate-The-Chosen-One reputation, only to have Professor Hollow try to tear it down in a few therapy sessions. 

It’s unfair. Utterly ridiculous.

It’s messing with my academic performance, too. Bunce takes two questions I could’ve answered in my sleep in Greek. She takes another three in Political Science. It doesn’t help that Simon sits next to her in every class. Or that Agatha’s always glancing at me from across the room. 

I’m on my last fucking braincell by the time dinner rolls around.

-

“Hey, Dev?”

“Yes, Niall?”

“Remember how Alexander the Great tutored Aristotle?”

Dev has the audacity to fucking smirk at me. Bastard. “Ah, but you’re forgetting the best part. Remember how Homer was written by The Odyssey.”

“No, actually. I’m learning so much,” Niall responds, biting into a scone. (I’m starting to suspect that’s the only reason I had a ‘crush’ on him fifth year; He reminds me of Simon.)

“Lads?” I say, taking a sip of coffee. “I will end you.” I glance at the clock on the wall over the teacher’s table. I catch eyes with Professor Hollow. He’s sitting next to the Mage who’s gesticulating as he speaks to disinterested Miss Possibelf. Professor Hollow taps his temple. What the fuck is that supposed to mean. He gives a pointed glance in Simon’s direction. 

_Ah_. If he thinks he’s going to make Simon and me best friends, he’s very much mistaken. He’d have better luck attempting to make me fall in love with Agatha Wellbelove. 

I’m pulled back to reality as Dev comments, “The same way you’re going to end the Chosen One?”

I tap my temple. “Exactly. I knew you two weren’t as thick as you looked. There may be hope for you yet.”

I hear a shout from across the dining hall, I flick my eyes behind Dev and Niall to see Simon standing up and pointing aggressively in my direction. 

There may be hope for Dev and Niall, but there’s none for Simon.

Shit, what did I miss? 

“He’s a fucking vampire!”

Straight to the point, I see.

“Mr. Snow!” I hear Professor Hollow call out, he stands up, poised for action. Next to him the Mage is frowning at the scene, like a disappointed parent watching his child throw a tantrum. He makes no move to intervene. 

“Simon, calm down,” Penny says, trying to tug Simon back down. But there’s no stopping him when he gets like this. I can already feel smoke filling the air, thick and heavy. 

I wipe all emotions from my face and raise a single disinterested eyebrow as people glance at me, interested. Dinner with a show, I suppose.

Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t seem to catch a break. I’m not sure what I did to merit this. He’s never been this pissed, not even when he’d been convinced I pushed him off the stairs. (I didn’t mean to, for the record.)

“I’ve seen him! He sneaks off to the catacombs to drain rats! He stole my cross!”

“Simon, please,” Bunce pleads, tugging harder on his arm.

No, of course I can’t, because Simon’s shaken his arm free of Bunce and is storming over to my table. Bunch pinches the bridge of her nose, but holds her ring up, nonetheless, ready to back Simon up.

“He’s evil! I’ll prove it!” he shouts, for the entire school to hear as he rounds to stand behind me.

I flinch as he draws his sword. I think he’s going to run me through with it. Instead, he lines the blade up with his palm and slices it open, shoving it in my face. God, does he know how many nerve endings are in his hand. However, that was not the first thought that came into my mind at the time, it was ‘Blood! Fangs! Fuck!’

It’s taking every inch of self-restraint in me to not let my fangs pop. Merlin, I should feed between lunch and dinner if this is going to be a regular occurence. 

“C’mon, Baz,” he goads, I lean back from him, glaring at him. “Where’s your fangs?”

“I’m not a fucking vampire you nump-” Oh no. I feel a tingling in my gums as my mouth fills.

My fangs are out. For the whole school to see.

To their credit, only about half of them gasp in surprise, mostly the younger years. 

Across from me Dev and Niall look murderous. But the look’s not for me. 

It’s for Simon. 

They both stand up and draw their wands, mirroring Bunce,.“You’re gonna pay for that, mate,” Niall warns. 

“You messed with the wrong cousin,” Dev growls. 

I can feel tears filling my eyes. Crowley, end me.

The smoke is so thick it’s filled the whole hall. I can only see one table past us. Hopefully no one can tell how tears are sliding down my face in quick succession. Out of anger. Out of humiliation. What’s my father going to say when he hears about this?

I wish he’d just run me through, already. I always knew Simon would be the end of me, I was hoping to at least have eighth year with him, though, 

“I’m not done with him yet,” Simon growls, pulling me up by the tie so that we’re face to face. (His nose’s a bit crooked.) I should’ve never worn my tie today. Niall and Dev lunge at him, but his magic’s formed a sort of forcefield.

I close my eyes. I can’t stand to look at him right now. I’m so done. I’m so humiliated. I’m done fighting him.

Please, can the universe give me _one_ good day?

“ **What are you hiding**?” It’s not a spell. Therefore it shouldn’t work. But before I know what’s happening, I’m speaking around my fangs. The words pour out of me. It’s almost a relief to hear myself say them. Almost.

“I’m a vampire. I’m gay. I had a crush on Professor Hollow when I was thirteen. I don’t hate you. I don’t want to kill you. I don’t like Wellbelove. I’m jealous of her. I-” I try to fight the spell. I sputter, coughing, hacking my lungs up. There’s nothing else that I’m hiding. Nothing but what’s trying to crawl itself up from my throat like what comes out of my mouth next. “I- I love you. I-”

Simon drops my tie, horrified.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Baz, fuck you. Why didn’t you- Fuck!” 

Merlin. If I wasn’t sure he hated me before, he sure does now. Before I know what’s happening, he’s spun on his heels and booked it out of the great hall. 

The silence is deafening. There’s no clattering of silverware, no conversations, no laughter to be heard. I flick my eyes around the hall, feverishly, regarding my colleagues and teachers. Bunce is frowning, Agatha got her mouth open in a pretty little ‘o’ shape, Professor Hollow’s mouth is agape, his eyebrows disappearing under his hair. The Mage frowns at me, but makes no move to come towards me. 

Oh, fuck me.

I stand, stunned, exposed in front of Watford’s entire student body for a few seconds before my fight or flight instincts kick in and I’m sprinting as fast as my legs can carry me out of the hall.

“He was right,” I hear someone call out as I’m pushing open the heavy, ornate doors of the hall. “He really was a vampire.”

I sprint across the lawn as if in a trance. I stumble through the damp corridors of the catacombs until I find my mother’s grave, nearly tripping multiple times in my panic. Even though it’s the middle of September, it’s bloody cold down here in these labyrinthine bone and stone lined corridors. 

I lean against the damp, cold wall, sliding down to collapse sobbing against the dirty, rat bone littered floors. It’s where I belong. It’s what I deserve.

I wish I could do the whole day over. 

“I’m so sorry,” I sob. I don’t know who I’m talking to. I don’t know if she’s listening. I don’t know if I care. I feel my lungs seize and my breathing grow short and erratic.

I don’t know anything except that I cried myself to sleep in the catacombs, and no one came to find me.

Least of all Simon Snow.


	2. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps things aren't as hopeless as Baz originally thought.
> 
> Or maybe, things are worse than hopeless...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the suffering I put you guys through in the last chapter. Hopefully this helps make up for a it a bit.
> 
> I've absolutely loved reading all of your comments. So far the majority have been either 1) Crying about Baz, honestly. Same. Or 2) Laughing about the Rihanna joke which you have no idea how much giggling I did when I was writing it.

The first thing that hits me when I wake up is a distinct lack of cold and darkness. I’ve gone to sleep in the catacombs in the past, but every time I’d woken up in them, too. Usually I’m cold and shivering, sometimes I’d even had to knock a rat off my lap, or a spider from my hand. (They don’t bite me, but they’re still creepy as shit.) (This is coming from your friendly neighborhood vampire.)

After being kidnapped by Numpties, I’ve acquired a new fondness for sunlight. So, waking up in our room is a small mercy. 

This is new. 

God. Yesterday was an absolute disaster. If a day ever embodied my slowly deteriorating mental state, it’d be yesterday. I don’t even want to open my eyes. 

If my senses don’t deceive me, I’m in my bed. In the room that I share with Simon. It smells of scones and school issued soap. It smells like Simon. This Charming Man is playing, again.

Is that the only song he knows? 

I don’t want to open my eyes. I can hear him rousing awake across from me.

Merlin. I’m not ready to face the world. Honestly, I’m surprised the Mage or his men haven’t stormed in to take me to the Watford equivalent of Azkaban already. Did the entire school sign some Vampire-Solidarity pledge? At least that’s a comfort. A small one. Is this some sort of political move by the Mage. Is he bargaining with the Old Families? ‘I’ve decided to keep your vampire son in Watford, Malcolm. Now, sign these decrees or I’ll pull his fangs out.’ Or perhaps they’re giving me time to prepare. What would I even pack for theoretical Azkaban?

I don’t get to consider derailing that trainwreck of a train of thought before I hear Simon yawn from across the gap between our beds. His bed creaks as he sits up. At least, I think he’s sitting up.

I’m going to have to open my eyes eventually. Or maybe I could pretend to sleep for the rest of the day (or year.) (Or life.) It’s a Saturday afterall. I don’t have any responsibilities today. My dignity may be in shambles, and the entire school may know I’m a gay vampire who’s in love with Simon Snow, but at least it’s not a Monday.

Merlin, when did I let my standards drop so low.

I consider my options.

I think I’ll stay in bed for the rest of the day. I don’t want to talk to Simon, ever. Not now that he knows all my deepest secrets, anyway.

I think I’d rather have sex with Wellbelove than hold a conversation with Simon regarding my feelings. No thank you, I liked it better when everyone assumed I was a voluntary celibate, or pining after The Chosen One’s girlfriend. At least then their accusations were merely that: accusations. They didn’t hold any truth to them.

Merlin knows I spoke enough truth to last a lifetime yesterday.

“I can tell you’re awake.”

Oh, fuck me. (Actually, don’t.) (Unless you’re Simon.)

I don’t move. I try to regulate my breathing to seem as if I’m actually asleep.

“You’re shit at pretend sleeping,” Simon says. “You’re going to have to get up eventually.”

Not if I have any say in the matter. 

“Baz.” I can hear him pushing his sheets back; What is he doing? “Baz.”

I don’t move. I don’t breathe. He can’t make me get up. Not on a Saturday, not after he made me bare my heart in front of Watford’s student body.

I feel something collide with my face. I jolt awake, holding myself up on my forearms. I glare from a pillow that’s just ricocheted from my face to the floor, to Simon.

“Anathema.”

He has a smug look on his face. 

I consider setting myself on fire. What do I say? Why does he seem so nonchalant about this situation when I feel as if my stomach’s in my feet. 

“Why are you doing this?” I ask. It’s a bit hard to focus as he’s only in his pants. (The hottest days of the year are both a blessing and a curse.)

I don’t know what expression I should wear. My default would be a sneer, but I’m pretty sure that if I sneered at him, I’d start sobbing. I don’t need to cry in front of him. _Again_ , my brain supplies. Good to see my last brain cell is being put to good bloody use.

He tries to raise an eyebrow at me. “You’re going to be late.”

Fuck. Are the Mage’s men outside? Are they here to pull my fangs out in front of the Coven. Merlin. This likely means Malcolm and Fiona know, too. I bet Fiona was fuming. 

She’s a mad woman. I’m glad she’s on my side; I’d hate to be on her bad side. I’ve seen what happens to people who are unlucky enough to get on her bad side. 

Merlin, this means Simon’s on her bad side. This means I’m going to have to talk Fiona out of murdering The Chosen One. I’m going to have to tell her about how I’ve been hopelessly in love with him since fifth year. 

Actually, I’ll take getting my fangs pulled out anyday. Thank you very much. 

I’ll play his game. “What am I going to be late for?” I sit up in bed so we’re eye to eye across the divide between our beds. 

I hope he can’t tell I’m terrified. I try to keep my face from changing and my voice from trembling, but it’s hard when I want nothing more than to feed myself to the Merwolves.

“School, y’know? This thing we have everyday,” he gestures vaguely in the air. I’m half convinced he’s about to cast a **see what I mean** and draw a picture of Watford. 

I’m delusional. I’m losing my mind. I’m on my last brain cell. 

There’s no way I’m still here. I should be in front of the Coven being used as a bargaining chip by the Mage who’ll probably be holding some heinous tool to defang me as a threat. 

I squint at him and sneer. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

I visually see him buffer, like some sort of Youtube video.

“Uh, it’s Friday?” 

“No, it’s really not. That was yesterday. It’s fucking Saturday. Merlin, even you should know how to read a calendar.” I cross my arms and lean back against the wall. 

He frowns and reaches for his phone, pulling it off his charger and turning on the screen, turning it towards me.

**Friday, September 13.**

“You’re fucking with me,” I say, but the proof is right there. 

No. _He’s_ not fucking with me. I bet it’s the fucking Mage. The bastard did something. He’s torturing me. Simulation Theory was right. No—I’m in a parallel universe. 

I died. 

This is Hell. No, vampires can’t go to Heaven or Hell. This is purgatory. Fucking Hell—Purgatory! Fucking Purgatory. 

“Where is he?” I snarl. “He put you up to this? _You’re_ plotting!” I accuse, standing up and pulling on my uniform. I don’t care if this is the first time I’ve ever changed in front of him, there’s more pressing issues than the fact of my pride. Besides, I’m fit. 

“Baz-”

“No, I’m going to find the Mage and drain him! Fuck you, Snow!”

“Wait, did you just admit to being a vampire? You can’t drain the Mage!” he calls behind me, standing to attention. He starts saying his ridiculous sword pledge and attempting to pull on a pair of trousers at the same time. I’d laugh if I wasn’t actually reliving the worst day of my life.

I storm out of our room and sprint across the ground and up the stairs of the Weeping Tower, lifts be damned. It always takes an hour to reach the ground floor. My mother’s office used to be at the top; Now it’s the Mage’s. 

I’ve been up here a few times, usually on Fiona’s orders to search his office for ‘clues.’ When I told her I wasn’t leaving bags of shit on his bed, she told me to leave it in a house plant: ‘he’d never see it coming. It’s the perfect plan. He’d smell it, but he’d never find it. Plus, great fertilizer.’

All that I know, is if I manage to get my hands on the Mage, I’m going to drain all his blood and dump his body to the Merwolves. 

I emerge from the staircase to a large foyer, only a bit out of breath. The school seal is laid out in marble tile on the floor and polished till it looks wet. I’m surprised the Mage bothers with maintenance. The domed ceiling has a mural of Merlin himself calling magic up through his hands into the sky, his mouth open. It always used to freak me out as a little toddler, back when my biggest concerns were scary murals and toys.

There’s two doors, an arched one on the left leads to what used to be my mother’s office. Knowing the Mage, he’s likely already in it, writing new bullshit decrees, or maybe planning to take me away. It’s a bit ridiculous that I’m seeking him out. But taking me away is one thing, confounding the entire world, including NASA’s satellites to think it’s Friday is a whole different thing.

I want answers.

I try to twist the door knob, but the door is locked. Of course the Mage would put locking spells on his office, as if he’s expecting to be attacked there, too. I pull my wand out of my sleeve. I’ll burn the whole door down if I have to.

“ _ **Open Sesame!”**_ the door flies open.

I step into the room. It’s almost the same as how my mother left it, the only difference being there’s no baby pictures of me on her desk. Also, her favorite books are nowhere to be seen. 

“Mage!” I’ve suddenly realized I have no idea how to address the Mage, but that’s the least of my worries, as it appears he’s not even in his office. That means he’s still in his rooms or he’s out on some bullshit mission. “Where the fuck are you!” I call out again, knocking on his rooms. This is ridiculous. It feels like a violation of privacy, but-

“Baz!” I spin on my heels to see Simon poised and ready with his sword. The Numpty doesn’t even have his wand on him. If he thinks he’s beating me at a fight without a wand, he’s bloody wrong. He steps up to me and grabs me by the tie. “What are you doing?”

“Do you have to follow me fucking everywhere? Stay out of my business,” I sneer, mirroring him in grabbing his tie, before pushing him away and walking past him, preparing to go down the stairs in some deluded walk of shame. 

His tie was askew. Just like yesterday, before I fixed it.

“You’re my business,” Simon calls out from behind me. He’s truly delusional. Good to see we’re both equally obsessed with each other, even if it’s in different ways. 

“No, I’m really fucking not. I’m my own fucking business.”

“But your mother’s your business.”

I spin around so quickly I give myself whiplash. “Keep my mother out of your mouth,” I snarl, turning away and beginning my descent down the stairs. 

“Baz, I have to tell you-”

_**“Cat got your tongue.”**_ If there’s one time I’d really like Simon to shut the fuck up, it’d be now. 

I’ve got to fix this. 

-

“You look cheery,” Niall comments as I take a seat across from him and Dev. The latter of which seems to be staring quite intently at Agatha.

Talk about déjà fucking vu.

I watch in slow motion as Niall’s elbow goes towards Dev-

Maybe this is my chance at a do-over. Maybe the universe is finally cutting me some slack. Time to test out the theory.

“Wait!” I cry out. Niall and Dev’s heads snap up to meet me, it’d almost be comical if I weren’t reliving yesterday. “Don’t elbow him!”

They turn to regard each other. 

Dev glares at Niall. “Twat.”

Niall raises an eyebrow back. “Cunt. You were staring at Agatha.”

“You interrupted me.”

“I _saved_ you.” 

It’s as if they’re reciting a script. I need to get the fuck out of here. 

“Game of Thrones is rubbish, Wellbelove is a lesbian, and I need to go to class.”

Dev and Niall both turn their heads so quickly, I’m surprised they’re still connected to their necks.

“What?” Niall asks, blinking quickly as if it’d make him understand me better. I don’t blame him. I don’t understand _me_. 

“No fucking idea,” Dev comments next to him, holding his chin in his hand, as if that’s going to make him understand anything I just said, either. 

“Look,” Niall starts, placing his hand on Dev’s forearm in as a reassuring gesture, “there’s a lot to unpack here, but I think we’d be better off throwing the whole suitcase away-”

“Stop quoting that bloke John Mulaney or whatever the hell his name is.”

“I’m _paraphrasing-_ ” Niall retorts, pulling his hand away from Dev’s forearm.

“Paraphrasing my arse-”

I figure I’m better off slipping away silently than attempting to vocal excuse myself, so that’s exactly what I do. 

Right on cue, I hear Bunce’s familiar voice—“you’ve got to tell him, Si”—right as I catch a familiar head of golden curls move.

Even in this demented do-over I can’t seem to catch a break. 

-

“Look, I’ll make this quick,” I sneer, grabbing _him_ by the tie as he ducks into the library alcove, just like yesterday.

“What-” he sputters, stumbling to catch his balance. 

“I didn’t steal your cross,” I snarl, holding his tie so tightly my knuckles go pale(r) around it. 

He has the audacity to look confused. “ _What the fuck?”_ he spits, I can feel his breath hot on my face, I lean away from him. 

“I didn’t steal your fucking cross, Snow. I have no interest in disrupting your rel-”

“Look, I don’t know what the hell you’re on about, but I can tell you that not why I’m here. I’m here because you threatened to drain the fucking Mage. And, because-”

Huh, well I suppose he does have a point. If this Simon is who he says he is, and he isn’t in on the Mage’s deluded plan to time-fuck with me, then I suppose I could stand to be a _bit_ decent to him.

“Look, if you are who you say you are-” He raises an eyebrow. I suppose I do sound a bit bonkers. “Then, don’t worry about it. This is between me and the Mage. Now, go scamper off to your girlfriend, I have another idiot to find.”

He huffs like a fucking bull. “I’m not letting you drain the Mage-” Merlin, I want to punch him. Or kiss him, whichever comes first.

“I understand you’re unusually thick in the skull, so let me put his in terms your two brain cells would-”

Then, _he_ punches _me_.

I suppose I should’ve seen that coming. 

“It’s fucking on, you numpty,” I bring my fist up and sock him right in the nose. Bugger. “Now,” I snarl, cradling my own bloodied nose in my hand. “We match.” I feel my fangs pop out as blood trickles out from Simon’s nose..

“The only thing you two outmatch each other at, is being idiots,” says the familiar voice of professor Hollow from behind me. 

I suppose I should’ve seen this coming.

-

The intervention is even worse the second time, but what am I supposed to say? “Hi, yes, I already went through this yesterday. Am I excused?”

Not bloody likely, so I sit through it, uncomfortable the entire time, only just having retracted my fangs about ten minutes ago. 

“Now, as a great magician once said, sticks and stones may break my bones-”

“But chains-”

“And whips excite you,” I finish, bored and freaked out to the extreme, “I know you don’t understand what Rihanna has to do with this, but I’d really like to get going.” 

Professor Hollow pauses, mouth agape and flicks his eyes to Simon this time, as if expecting some sort of explanation. Simon is gaping back at me, shock evident on his face. 

“How are you doing that?” he asks me, glaring at me. 

“Magic,” I say, sardonically, leaning back in my chair, throwing my arm around the back of it and splaying my legs like some sort of sexually ambiguous teenager in the 1920’s. (Needless to say, I’m emulating Lucien Carr from Kill Your Darlings right now.) I twiddle my wand between my fingers to make the point. 

“No, you were freaking out earlier today-” 

Oh, fuck no. This is between me, the Mage, and apparently Simon, who feels the need to step into every situation like some sort of white knight. Personally, I was getting quite fed up of The Chosen One with his bloody hero complex. 

“Because of the political science essay. I know, I’m irrational, please,” I try to mask the panic in my voice. I don’t need my teacher crush thinking I’m insane. I try to convey to Simon with my eyes that he needs to shut the fuck up. 

He apparently gets the memo because he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, splaying out his legs to mimic my pose. Good. Better this than trying to explain to professor Hollow I freaked out because I thought it was Saturday and had confessed all my sins to the school.

I flit my eyes over to where Professor Hollow’s leaning on his desk, possibly to digest what the hell is going on. I know I am. 

“Okay, I was going to do an intervention filled with Oscar Wilde and Harry Potter quotes, but I think the most I can do is give you two something to mull over until our next meeting-”

“Next-” Simon blurts out, but quickly falls silent as he catches Professor Hollow’s unimpressed gaze. 

“Yes, Mr. Snow. _Next_. Now, my question,” he pauses for dramatic effect that falls short. "Why do you fight?” he pauses once more, then claps his hands together, as if he’s just delivered the most thought provoking question of the century. “Fantastic, now I’ll write you two your detention passes, come back here tomorrow, two PM sharp. Or anytime within a five minute radius. Afternoon, lads. I think we’re done here.”

-

Going through the day for the second time is a bit like watching lava creep towards you.

There’s nothing much to do except watch it until it touches you, and inevitably swallows you in flames.

The worst thing was, I didn’t know if today would be a true repeat of yesterday. Would Simon decide to scream to the world that I’m a vampire? Would he accuse me of stealing his cross? Where was his cross yesterday? 

I didn’t tie his tie today, so he can’t accuse me of messing with his cross (which I did not), unless he somehow finds a way to connect me to it. I bet he would, the idiot. (An idiot I’d very much like to slip the tongue.) He seemed confused when I confronted him about it earlier; he’d said it was about me wanting to drain the Mage.

Merlin. Since this morning until now, he’s had ample time to march right up to the Mage and turn me in. I’m surprised no one’s come to pull my fangs out. I kept anxiously checking my phone throughout the day, waiting to get a dooming text from Malcolm, Fiona, Daphne, anyone. I got a call from an unknown number today and nearly threw my phone out the window.

It turned out to just be someone trying to sell a Quinn Williams house insurance.

Nonetheless, a pattern is starting to emerge. Perhaps I simply need to break it to get out of the time loop. 

During Greek and Political Science I’d raised my hand before the answers were even a synapse in Bunce’s brain. I spent most of the time so intently focused on not messing up I nearly fell out of my seat when Wellbelove sneezed and then considered defenestrating myself when everyone consequently turned to look at me.

By the time I get to dinner, I’m near ready to jump out of my skin. 

“Hey, Dev?”

“Yes, Niall?”

“Don’t you hate it when Wellbelove sneezes and y’fall off a chair?”

“Of course, completely understandable,” Dev says, nodding, as if he has a point.

For the record, he does _not_.

“Lads?” I say, taking a sip of coffee,.“I will end you.”

Niall laughs, taking a bite out of a scone. I glance towards the large clock on the wall over the teacher’s table. Professor Hollow’s already looking in my direction. Next to him the Mage is gesticulating and talking to a Miss Possibelf who’s looking as if she’d rather be anywhere else. I bet he’s ranting about a decree or whatever bullshit political movements he’s planning.

Hollow catches my eye, taps his temple and gives a pointed glance in Simon’s direction, although he looks less assured than he did yesterday.

Good. Serves him right. No one’s allowed to be so attractive without repercussions. He has no chance of making us friends. He’d have better luck trying to set me up with Trixie the Pixie.

“The same way you’re going to end the Chosen one?” Dev asks, sardonically. 

“Ah, the battle will be glorious. The legendary Posh Prick against-”

A shout comes from across the dining hall. My eyes shoot behind Thing One and Thing Two to see Simon stood up and pointing an accusing finger in my direction.

“ **Listen to me!** ” I jolt to attention, as does the rest of Watford’s student body. I briefly consider casting an Avada Kedavra on myself. It wouldn’t work, but it’d be damn hilarious. “He admitted it! He’s a fucking vampire!”

I exhale deeply. Niall and Dev turn wide-eyed to stare at me just as I hear Professor Hollow call out a “Mr. Snow!”

Professor Hollow is stood up, wand in hand, looking ready to defend me or set me on fire. I don’t know which is worse. Next to him, the Mage is frowning, disappointed at the scene, as he did yesterday.

“Sir!” Simon’s addressing the Mage now. “He’s going to drain you! He told me himself!” 

“Simon! Sit down,” Bunce says, tugging on his sleeve. He rips his arm out of her grip and spins to face her.

“I have proof! He’s a vampire.”

“Listen, Simon,” she urges. “What does it matter?”

“What does it matter?” The room fills with smoke, heavy and thick, and so very Simon.

I’m so very, very dead.

“He’s a vampire! He’s dangerous. Can’t you see?” he spins to face the dining hall, then the teacher’s table. 

There’s a mixed panel of emotions at the teacher’s table. The Mage still looks disappointed and bored, as if he’d rather Simon be practicing his swordwork or chasing Chimeras. Miss Possibelf looks sad. She’s always looked at me as if she’s known something more about me. The Centaur looks surprised. 

But worst of all is Professor Hollow. 

He’s still standing, wand at the ready. He’s glancing between Simon and me with something akin to pity in his eyes. His expression doesn’t change as he looks between us, as if he knows something.

He knows nothing.

I narrow my eyes at Simon. His face contorts with rage.

“Don’t look at me like that! You know it’s true. I’ll prove it!”

If someone wasn’t listening before, they are now. Everyone’s listening. The entire world’s picked up the phone to listen in and there’s nothing I can do about it. 

My luck won’t hold up. It doesn’t work like that. I won’t be getting another do over after this. I’ve done many things during my years here at Watford. Some good. Some bad.

I can’t think of anything that merits this happening to me. 

The silence is deafening. Everyone’s holding their breath. Simon’s marching towards me, sword out, determined. I watch his hands.

He holds his sword in one hand, lines his palm up with it, and slices it open. He shoves it in my face. I can feel the static in my fangs from his cross keeping my fangs from unsheathing. I take steady, deep breaths and try to look disinterested and unaffected.

Maybe this is it.

I need to not be outed as a vampire so that the time loop would break. Or maybe I need to not be outed at all. Maybe me being outed interferes with fate. Maybe Simon ending the Humdrum and the world knowing I’m a vampire and gay and in love with him aren’t mutually exclusive. 

It’s a shit theory based on fuck all, but it’s all I have.

I need to calm him down. I need to cast a memory charm on all of Watford. 

Or maybe, I need a redo. 

If I’m not outed as a vampire, the day won’t reset. I need a redo. I go along with it. Today’s already terrible. I need it to end.

“Take your cross off,” I say, quietly to Simon. 

“What?”

“It’s blocking them,” I explain.

“Blocking what?” he snarls. I roll my eyes.

“My fangs, you numpty. You want to show the world I’m a vampire. Go the fuck ahead.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Good decision, honestly. But unless you take your cross off, my fangs aren’t coming out.”

“I’m not taking my cross off.”

I light a flame in my palm. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I love you.”

I let the flame touch my palm. 

I disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better? Hopefully. It's only uphill AND downhill from here.
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated <333


	3. Day Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, things have to get worse before they get better. 
> 
> (I'm sorry).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I-
> 
> I don't have much to say, just... I'm sorry.
> 
> (Really).

_I would go out tonight_

_But I haven't got a stitch to wear_

_This man said "it's gruesome_

_That someone so handsome should care"_

I sigh contentedly as I watch the morning light reflect off of Simon’s curls. Thank fucking for those curls. He reaches up to ruffle his hair, and passes his fingers through his curls. He’s wearing his school issued uniform. 

It’s a shame they keep us in the same uniform everyday. He’d look stunning in a good pair of jeans. Maybe a suit.

Get Simon in a suit. I add it to my time loop bucket list.

He reaches towards his phone and presumably hits skip. Tears for Fears comes on. I sigh, and roll over in bed, pulling the blankets over myself.

“I can tell you’re awake.”

I roll my eyes and stretch, pre-mourning my bed. I plan on researching most of the day today. 

“Astute deduction, Simon.”

He turns to me, frowning, and goes to turn away before his neck snaps back to face me. “Simon? You never call me Simon.”

I allow myself this. “Well, that’s your name, isn’t it?”

I sit up in bed and throw my arms over my head stretching like a cat.

“Uh, I guess, but-”

He falls silent. I watch as his eyes flit from my face down to my navel where I suspect a bit of my shirt has ridden up. He swallows.

_Oh._ Interesting.

I raise an eyebrow at him, the corner of my mouth turning up at the end. I tell myself I’m allowed this. Everything will reset tomorrow. “But what, Snow?”

He gapes, then closes his mouth.

“Nothing.”

I smile, collect my uniform, and step towards him.

“Do you need help with that?”

He blushes. “Excuse me?”

I raise an eyebrow, thoroughly amused. “Your tie?”

“Oh,” he says. “I mean, I guess-”

He falls silent as I step further into his space and grab the ends of his tie. He swallows; I watch his Adam's apple as he does. Simon has the showiest swallows. It’s a whole three act play. 

I slow down as I tie his tie. I could easily tie it in five seconds, but there’s no fun in that. It’s the game I like. 

“T-thanks?”

I pat his shoulder. It’s warm and sturdy under my hand. 

“Don’t mention it.”

-

“Well, isn’t our Baz looking _particularly_ chuffed?”

_Some things never change._

Dev leans forward, leaning his arm perpendicular to himself and pointing a finger in my direction. He looks at Niall. “ _Particularly_.”

“Yes, yes,” Niall set his elbow on the table and turns to look at Dev, eyebrow raised. “We may just be onto something, mate.”

“Do you reckon…”

“Are you suggesting…?”

“Could it be…” Dev trails off. I’m split between wishing they’d finish their statements or shutting up. I’m leaning towards the latter.

They both turn to look at me. I raise an eyebrow and try to look wholly unaffected. 

“Gentlemen?” I implore.

“ _Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-”_ I cringe so hard I think my head recedes into my neck.

“Merlin, _shut up_. You sound like my father.”

Niall ignores me, “Mr. Pitch. Tell me you’ve _finally_ resolved all that sexual tension between you and Ag-”

I gag, setting my coffee down as if it’s burned me. “Don’t be _crude,_ Niall. I would never. She’s sullied by the Chosen One’s touch.” I leave out the fact that I, too, would like to be sullied by the Chosen One’s touch.

Behind the absolute fool and buffoon sitting before me, I watch the same fifth year pass by as two days before. A cold chill makes its way down my spine. It’s unnerving, and I’m not quite used to the fact that I’m stuck in a time loop. 

A time loop I very much need to break. I have no idea what the break in the linearity of time entails or means, but I reckon it can’t be anything good.

Dev eyes have once more fallen towards where I know Wellbelove must be sat, seperate from Bunce and Snow. Niall elbows Dev in the ribs, holding nothing back.

“Well, lads. I really must be going. Time’s a wastin’, gentlemen.”

Dev snorts. “Nerd.”

“Twat,” Niall supplies, and just as quickly, they’re back where they started.

Bored, but mildly amused, I try to break them out of it. 

“I ate the Mage.”

Nothing. Niall elbows Dev, all while spewing some rubbish about Game of Thrones.

“I’m in love with a Merwolf.”

I sigh. Then, I realize. The day will reset. I could say _anything_. With no consequences. Hm…

I take a deep breath. “I’m gay.”

Dev and Niall both freeze, eyebrows raised high as they turn to face me. Fuck, I’m reconsidering my decision. Should I take it back? No. It’s my truth. If anything comes out of this, at least it’d be good practice for when I do actually come out to them. 

When it matters.

“Yeah… and I’m shagging the Queen of England,” Dev says, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Baz. All you ever do is stare at Wellbelove. You’re taking the piss.”

Beside him, Niall is silent, watching me, eyes wide. 

I shake my head. “No, It’s not Wellbelove I’m staring at. I’m more interested in-” _here it goes_ , “her boyfriend.”

Dev brings his index finger up to rub it against his bottom lip, pensive. “Give me a moment. I’m mentally re-evaluating every time you’ve ever mentioned Simon or Agatha,”

Niall rolls his eyes besides Dev. He’s finally broken out of his stupor, but his demeanor seems overly casual, forced.

Merlin, I hope he’s not homophobic. Dev and Niall are my only real friends. I’d be fucked without them.

“Dev? Shut up.” He turns to me. “We support you, y’know? I mean.” He pauses, as if mulling his words over in his head. “Me, most of all. Because, y’know.” He gestures vaguely in the air, crossing his free arm over the crook of the other and leaning his elbow on the table.

I raise an eyebrow. “I know?”

He bites his bottom lip. “I mean, y’know, because-”

“You’ve got to tell him, Si,” I heard Bunce’s now too familiar voice say from behind me. I catch a glimpse of golden curls in the edge of my vision.

Oh, fuck me.

“Hold that thought. I’ll see you two at lunch-”

“Where are you going?” Dev calls from behind me as I push myself away from the table and hastily walk towards the great wooden doors, just as I hear Simon calling me from behind.

I don’t answer.

-

I suppose, me being me, it’s surprising it’s taken me two days to realize Simon wanted to tell me something other than how he wants me to give his cross back or not drain the Mage. 

But, I hadn’t, so you can imagine my surprise when he tells me my mother wants me to avenge her.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” I exclaim. “My mother wants me to _what?_ ”

Simon wrings his hands nervously, shifting from foot to foot, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

I’ve led him to the library, just like the first day. We’re tucked into an alcove, and I’m split between mapping the constellations of his freckles and paying attention to what he’s saying. Paying attention wins out, marginally. 

“She came back for you—well, she didn’t _come back_. She’s _dead._ But-”

The visitings. My mother came back for me, and I wasn’t there.

I grab Simon by his tie, and pull him towards him. He’s so close, I can see flecks of different shades of blue in his eyes. He holds the stars in his eyes.

“What did she say? Tell me every word!”

His eyes are wide, startled. “I wanted to give you this first,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a photograph of, well, me. Me, maybe three or four, dressed in grey dungarees with bloomer bottoms, and white leather boots. 

My hand is dwarfed by someone else who’s holding my fingers. I recognize my mother’s wedding ring. Her rough hands. Fireholder’s hands. 

“Baz… I need to tell you something.”

I school my face into a flat, unemotional expression. “Where did you get this?”

“The Mage’s office. He-”

The Mage. My brain’s working faster than I can keep up with it. The Mage. He did this. He put me in the coffin. He kidnapped me so my mother couldn’t find me. The evil, scheming, despicable bastard. 

“He fucking did this.” My voice comes out sounding like shards of glass. 

“What?”

“I’m going to fucking kill him!” I shout, disregarding the fact that we’re in the library. 

“Who’s him, Baz?” Simon looks puzzled, and alarmed. His hand is hovering over where his sword hilt would be. He’s wearing his cross today.

“The Mage! I’m gonna kill the fucking-”

Simon’s gaze falls to right over my shoulder as I feel a hand touch my shoulder.

“Mr. Pitch. Mr. Snow. My office. Now.”

-

God. Fucking. Damn it.

“What on Earth makes you think plotting a political leader’s death in the library is a good idea, exactly, Mr. Pitch?”

Simon gets a smug look on his face at the mention of my name and the word ‘plotting’ in the same sentence, said by someone other than him.

I clench my jaw. I refuse to meet Hollow’s gaze. Instead, I look out his window into the Wavering Wood.

“Mr. Snow-” Hollow prompts, likely realizing he won’t get any answers out of me.

“Simon’s fine, sir.”

“Simon, do you care to explain what on Earth is going on?”

He pauses. I watch the gears turning in his brain, as if he’s deciding just how far to throw me under the bus. I’m trying to figure out if I care or not.

“Baz and I were talking, and he got… upset.”

_Understatement of the year._

“Upset? Baz, any input?”

I have a lot of input, mind you. Do I say any of it? _No_.

“No. Simon’s right, sir.” _Say what he wants to hear_. “I simply got a bit heated that his friend scored a higher score on an essay in Political Science than I did. My anger was misplaced.”

Professor Hollow stops pacing in favor of sitting halfway on his desk. Merlin, he has no right looking like _that_ in a simple blazer. He crosses his arms. It’s hard to ignore the way his forearms stretch against the fabric of his blazer.

“Mr. Pitch.” He sounds unconvinced. “Is there any reason you were calling for treason?”

“Favoritism.” I’m not wrong. It’s just not what I’m angry about this time.

He nods, a bit skeptical, but making an attempt to hide it. “Mr. Snow?” 

Simon looks like he’s about to correct him, but he seems resigned. “It doesn’t matter?”

“Simon, truth will out. Baz has said some hefty words, and though sticks and stones may break my bones-”

“Chains and whips excite me,” I chorus with Simon.

“Like a cult,” Professor Hollow says, under his breath. He seems… disturbed, to say the least.

“Simon,” I say, allowing myself to say his name. His real name. “I know you don’t understand what Rihanna has to do with this, but-” _Will you please shut up_ , I cut myself off. The goal is to escape this intervention as soon as possible so I can spend the rest of the day in the library researching time loops and such.

I want out. I want bloody out. Although… living a consequenceless life has its certain perks. What’s stopping me?

“Gentlemen, all I'm trying to get at is the epicenter of this,” he pauses, like many times before-

“Why do we fight,” I deadpan.

Hollow turns to look at me, surprised. “My, Mr. Pitch. Exactly. Why do you fight?”

I cross my arms. “Great question. Where shall I start. The man who hates my family made Snow his heir, we’re political enemies-”

“But that’s politics.”

“It’s personal.”

“Says whom?”

He doesn’t understand. He could never understand. 

“He’s hated me since day one,” Simon says. “He pushed me down the stairs, he tried to kill me with a Chimera, he’s _evil_.”

“What is evil, Simon?” Hollow says. _Vampires_ , my mind provides. _Hiding me in a coffin_. Simon seems to be thinking the same thing, but he doesn’t say it. “Someone’s villain is someone else’s hero. The adults around you are engaged in endless, petty wars. But, you don’t have to. You can change that-”

“What if we don’t want to change that, Professor?”

He pauses, thinking. “I could cast a truth spell on each of you, with your consent, of course.”

Simon sputters. “I’m not lying! Why would I want to be his friend?”

“I’m not saying you need to be his friend-”

“Then what are you saying, professor?” I challenge. He’s not being truthful. He laces, relaces his fingers, and pushes a strand of brown hair behind his ear. Fuck Professor Hollow, and his Hugh Grant complexion and his flowy brown hair, and his green eyes and his-

“I’m simply suggesting that… friendship is...” He pauses. “Should I tell you? Am I legally allowed to give students this advice.”

“Anything’s legal with the Mage not here.”

They ignore me.

“Professor?” Simon prompts.

Professor Hollow pinches his brow, and looks between the two of us, “Merlin, this was not in the job description… I’m simply suggesting, now this way be pure speculation, but… Friendship isn’t…” he trails off, “I shouldn’t. You know what. Come back tomorrow. I’m determined to fix this,” he gestures with his hand towards us, “before the end of your Eighth year.”

I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Is that all, professor?”

He sighs, tired and nods. “Yes, that is all for now. I’ll see you here tomorrow, this time.”

-

I slam another book down and slide it across the table to join the ever-growing pile. 

I pull another book towards me and thumb to the index. I glance down at my nails. They’re bitten down. They’re never bitten down.

_Time magic, time spells, time curses, time cycles, turning back the-_

I check for the page number, but the book’s so ancient it has none. The author’s name starts with a ‘Sire’ for crying out loud. I hold back a frustrated growl, marginally. No need to drop to Snow’s level.

Merlin, I need a therapist.

“Basil,” I hear the sound of a book settle in front of me, but don’t cast my eyes up. I already know who it is if the sickly-sweet voice was anything to go off.

“Wellbelove,” I greet, trying my best to keep the frustration out of my voice. “What a… pleasant surprise.”

For the record, it was _not_ a pleasant surprise.

“What are you doing?”

This question bothers me for two reasons. 1) I’m not doing anything out of the ordinary, and 2) she’s not actually interested in what I’m doing, even if I told her.

I give her a flat, disinterested stare. “There must be better ways of getting your parents’ attention,” I drawl, casting my eyes back to the book in front of me. There’s a bookworm crawling over the ‘L’ in ‘Time Loops’. 

“ _Excuse me,_ ” she huffs, irritated. 

“So you’ve finally decided to stop leading the Chosen One on, so what? You come rushing towards the villain? Attention. It’s called Seeking Attention and there’s better ways to do it.”

“Don’t call him that!” she hisses, “and you have no right to tell me what to do.”

“No, you’re right. I have no right to tell you what to do, but when someone gives you good advice, it’s in your best interest to take it.”

“How do you know what’s best for me, Basil.”

“That’s my opinion.”

“We’re all entitled to our terrible opinions, but it doesn’t mean I have to listen to yours.”

This bothers me. “Opinions are subjective, and I didn’t state an opinion, it’s a fact. You’re bored. I am not a cure for boredom.”

“You could be.”

_Merlin, help me._

“No, I couldn’t. Don’t tell me what I could and couldn’t be. I have no interest in you,” I pause, considering. The day will reset. I am bound by no laws. “I have never been interested in you, nor any girl at Watford. You’ll have better luck seducing the Mage.”

She looks deeply offended, and almost hurt for a moment, before it clicks. “Oh,” she says quietly, looking suddenly uncomfortable. Good.

I’m wrong to think it’s the end of the conversation, though as her face quickly furrows into a frown. “Wait, so you’ve led me on for _years_ to what end? To be a complete and utter bastard?”

“No, I led you on for years because I was interested in someone else. What type of an utter-”

Her eyes grow wide and she turns away, pacing, irritated. “Oh. My. God.” She’s cursing like a Normal. The only Mages I know that curse like that are Fiona and Simon. “It makes _sense._ You’re such an _idiot_.”

“Please, Wellbelove, we all know the only idiot here is-”

_“You_.” She laughs. “You absolute _buffoon_.” 

This insult, in particular, offends me. It’s an insult I reserve for Simon for when he’s being especially thick, the absolute nightmare. (An absolute nightmare I’d like to slip the tongue.)

“Oh, don’t look so offended. It’s true.”

“Oh?” I have no fucking idea what she’s talking about, “I’m an idiot?”

“Well, you and Simon.”

I am so confused. “Don’t group me in with that numpty-”

“Oh, come off it. He’s the _only_ numpty you’d like to be grouped in with.”

_Oh._

I stiffen up and pull my gaze away from her and cast it back towards _Time Loops_. The bookworm is gone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not as dense as him, or you for that matter. I see things, Basil. You like-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I repeat, my voice sharp.

The universe is toying with me—nay— _torturing_ me. I am trapped in a time loop, reliving the same bloody day over indefinitely. Apparently, the universe does not deem that punishment enough, as I am currently being harrassed by my crush’s ex-girlfriend as I am researching methods to break out of the aforementioned time loop. 

In the words of Freddie Mercury, I want to break free.

“Scared of the truth, Basil?” 

_Yes._ “No.”

“The truth will set you free,” she says it without magic, but it still makes me flinch. 

The truth will set _me_ free?“No, it won’t,” I retort.

“How can you be so sure, Basil. Talk to him-”

“The truth will _not_ set me free, trust me,” I laugh. Not because the situation is amusing, but because it’s ironic. Everytime I tell the universe my secrets, the truth does not set me free. Truth is a prison. A bloody time-loop prison I’d love to escape, no matter how many temporary freedoms it may grant me. 

Her eyes soften., “I’ve spent many years chasing something I didn’t want. Maybe it’s time for you to chase something you do want.” Her casually mentioning my attraction to Simon makes me inexplicably blush, and I’m immensely grateful I haven’t fed today. “Instead of antagonizing him constantly, why don’t you try befriending him. You never know-”

“No, I _do_ know. He’ll never want me, Wellbelove. Do you know why that is?”

She’s backed away a bit. I’m intimidating her. Good. She shakes her head. “No?”

“Because he’s the Chosen One, because he’s the hero, and I’m the villain.” 

“You don’t have to be the villain,” she’s shaking her head almost violently. I’ve hit a nerve. “You’re your own person. Start acting like it. You don’t have to be what other people want you to be-”

“Oh, don’t I?” _I have nothing to lose_. “I don’t suppose Snow might have mentioned a certain _blood_ condition of mine? Do you think I had a choice in that?”

Her eyes widen as her mouth falls open a bit, surprised I’m being so transparent, but she doesn’t back down. If anything, it looks as if she’s laid roots on the library floor. “If you become what you’re expected to be, it will make you miserable. Tell Simon how you-”

“How I what? _Feel_?” I spit the word out like a slur. “To what end, Wellbelove? For him to spit in my face and tell me I’m delusional. He’s straight-”

“How do you know?”

“I just do. Have you seen him?” 

“Have _you_?”

“Jesus, you’re blind. You know what. This is out of my hands. It’s up for you two to sort out now. I came to you because I figured you’d be less thick than Simon.” She laughs, thoroughly amused. “Have a good day, Basil. You’ll figure it out.”

I highly doubt that.

I exhale deeply, leaning my elbows on the table and passing my hands through my hair. I stare intently at the page, as if it would somehow give up its secrets. The bookworm is back, I brush it away with the back of my hand and turn the page.

_Time Loops manifest themselves in various ways, the apparent cause of one often being seemingly unknown to the time traveller._

I scoff, that’s one way to describe it.

_In 1602, Lucindia “Lucy” Salisbury became trapped in a time loop that lasted for three weeks. The cause of the time loop is unknown, but Phillip Plottus Pitch II, distant relative of King George III and Time Loop specialist, speculated that it was likely love based, as many of the Salisburys were known to be quite gifted with love magic._

_Phillip himself married a Salisbury a few years after his discovery. In his studies, he would later write, ‘She [Ella] would later confess to me that our story was one of **Love at First Sight**. I was shocked, but since then, our love had grown, and I agreed to put it behind us’. _

Salisbury. Lady Salisbury. Sometimes I forget they exist, they’re few and far between these days, and they mostly keep to themselves. The last time I saw them was at Daphne and Malcolm’s wedding.

I rub my temples. I’ve only been at this for a few hours, but it feels like days. I feel as if I’m on the verge of something. If only I had the last piece of the puzzle. Simon once mentioned Bunce making a two sided chart. I pull open a notebook and crease a page down the middle.

_What I know. What I don’t know._

I feel ridiculous, but I know it’ll help. I tap the pen tip to my temple before writing down every piece of information I can think of. Unsurprisingly, I run out of space on the right side quickly.

“What are you doing?”

I jolt so hard my knee bangs against the bottom of the table.

“Crowley, Bunce. Would it kill you to announce yourself?”

“I just did,” she says, utterly unconcerned with how close she put me to a heart attack. (Can vampires have heart attacks?) She’s wearing the standard uniform, and she has her hair up in a ponytail. It’s purple, again. 

I exhale briskly out of my nose and go back to the paper.

Bunce is leaning over my shoulder. I can’t see her, but I can feel her. “I do that.” She sounds suspicious, but also pleased someone’s taken up her methods. I won’t give her the satisfaction.

“Congratulations. Your methods are subpar; I’ve gotten nowhere.”

She ignores me, steps around from behind me and pulls the book I was looking at out from in front of me. Merlin, I’ll have to find my page again.

“You missed class today,” she says casually, but with an edge to her voice. “You never miss class.” She’s flipping through the book. She glances at the rest of the pile. All about time. She’s too fucking clever for her own good.

“People change.”

She snorts. “You, changing? Unfucking likely.” She glances at my graph again. “Either you’re very devoted to the concept of time, or you’re in deep shit.”

“We all have our specific interests.”

She raises her eyebrows and peers at me from behind her cateye spectacles. They make her eyes look twice as big and it’s frankly unnerving. I can feel them digging into my soul.

She hums and flips to where I suspect time loops is. “Interesting.”

“Will you stop doing that,” I sneer.

She hums, questioningly. “Doing what?”

“Acting like you know _something_.”

“I’m not acting. I _know_ things.”

 _Like what?_ I don’t say it. This conversation has gone on long enough. “Don’t you have a Chosen One to babysit?”

“He hates when you call him that, you know.” _Which is exactly why I say it. Keep up, Bunce._

“That’s unfortunate.”

She casts me a disapproving glare and despite myself, I sink into my chair a bit.

“Are you researching your mother?”

“ _Excuse me_.”

“I thought Simon told you, since you’re here now. But these books have nothing to do with Natasha Pitch.”

My mother’s name sounds foreign when said like that. _Natasha Pitch_. Father calls her Natasha, no Pitch. Either that or Natasha Grimm-Pitch. Fiona calls her Nat. All the students call her Former Headmistress Pitch. Never Natasha Pitch.

“That’s none of your business,” I tell her, because it’s true.

Bunce pauses, sets the book down and sets her hands on her hips. She’s thinking. “I came over here to offer my help.”

“Your help? And what makes you think I need that?”

She gives a pointed glance at the stack of time books next to me. “Oh, nothing. I just… avenging someone is tricky business. It was actually Simon that suggested we help you find your mother. He felt badly about you missing your mother’s visit.”

“I don’t need your pity.”

“Then don’t be pitiful. But it’s not pity; we want to help.”

I raise an eyebrow, ready to continue arguing, but I pause. Whatever words I was going to say dying on the tip of my tongue. 

If I’m to escape this time loop, it’d be dead helpful to have Simon and Bunce on my side. 

“Fine. Here.” I hand her the book I was reading and turn to where I was. “Time loops.”

“What does this have to do with Natasha Pitch?” she pauses, and I see the wheels turning in her head. She looks up at me, her eyes sharp. She seems to be recounting every memory she has of me today.

She glances back at the book, skimming the words. Her eyes grow wide.

“I have a theory.”

“Oh? That’s reassuring.”

She pauses, “Baz… are you trapped in time?”

-

By the time I’m done researching time loops with Bunce and it’s time for dinner, I’m exhausted.

“Sit with us,” she says as we walk into the dining hall together. 

“I’d rather not.”

“Look, right now it’s not about what either of us would _rather_ do. I’d rather be in Chicago. You can bring your friends, but we’re on a time constraint here. If what you say is true,” _which it is_ , “then we need to get as much time as possible to research.”

I don’t have a good counter for that. Her argument is irrevocably logical, and I hate her for it. Unlike me, she’s able to separate thought from emotion.

“Fine.” If she’s bringing Snow into this, I didn’t even have to ask, then I’m bringing Dev and Niall into this. I set my bag down and go over to Dev and Niall.

“Gentlemen.” They’re eyeing me strangely, confused. As if they’re looking at a portrait that’s been slightly altered, but they’re not sure what’s changed.

“Baz,” Niall says, matching my formality, but a bit of uncertainty slips into his voice.

“I’m sitting with Bunce today.” They exchange glances and I watch as an entire conversation passes in a second. They nod, expecting me to continue. Whatever I’m doing, they trust me. They’re backing me up. “Care to join?”

“I have no idea what you’re doing,” Dev says, getting up and pulling his bag over his shoulder nonetheless, “but I hope you know.”

“We’ll come,” Niall adds, without question. 

_Good men._ I’ve never loved my friends so much.

It’s a bit awkward settling in around the same table with Bunce, Simon, and Wellbelove already at it. For once, the entire school is paying attention, some more subtly than others. The earlier years all look different levels of confused while the upper years look dumbfounded. 

Sitting at a table with Bunce, Simon, Dev, Niall, and Agatha is so awkward, it should be an art form. This looks like a Renaissance painting, all we’re missing is dramatic outfits from the sixteenth century and baby Jesus.

“Great let’s get started, I’m sure Baz has-”

“I haven’t,” I cut in suddenly, realizing I haven’t explained to Dev and Niall that I’m trapped in a time loop. “Have you told Wellbelove and Snow?”

“Well, no, either. Do the honors?”

Dev and Niall suddenly get a knowing look on their faces, “Is this about the…” Dev gestures vaguely, “your prolictivities.”

I feel myself flush, leave it up to Dev to be unable of saying the word ‘gay.’

“No,” I shake my head, “I’m trapped in time.”

“What?” Simon says.

“I’m stuck in a time loop,” I explain. Dev and Niall look shocked, but are hiding it well. Simon, on the other hand, is not. 

“Wait, really? Like that one movie, Groundhog Day? Is that possible,” he turns to Bunce and Wellbelove. I’d forgotten she was there. She’s looking between Simon and I, as if our non-existent relationship were more important than the fact that I am reliving every day over and over and over-

“How many days?”

Bunce’s eyes widen, and she taps her pen on her notebook. She’s made two columns. “Good question, Simon. How many times have you relived today? How do they end? Do you go to bed then wake up? Or does something special happen-”

“One question at a time, please, Bunce. Today's my,” I pause to think, “third day. Right now is the third day.”

Bunce frantically scribbles the information down. Simon looks absolutely gobsmacked.

“ _Three days?_ How have you not gone mad, mate?” 

He called me mate. 

_He called me mate._ He’s never called me that, except for once when we were eleven, or the rare times when he’d forget who I was. 

“ _Can you pass me the unicorn hair, mate,” Simon said, stirring the potion._

_I froze, but handed him the unicorn hair, nonetheless. He’d realized what he said, too, and he didn’t look at me for the next five minutes._

We never talked about it.

“Sometimes it feels like I’m already mad,” I mutter, looking between the Chosen One Clan and my minions. (I only call them that; They’re the only friends I’ve really got.)

“Well, that’s pessimistic. But, on the bright side,” Bunce says, pulling a large stack of time related books, and dropping them onto the wooden dining table with a heavy thud, “we have plenty of material.”

Simon groans, but pulls a book off the pile and begins to read. Merlin, I love him. 

Everyone else follows suit, and we read and note important pieces of information for the rest of dinner. Soon, the dining hall is almost completely empty. Even the teachers begin to leave, until it’s just us and the Mage.

“Pardon the intrusion upon whatever this little get together is, but what on Earth are you doing, Simon?”

I grit my teeth, but don’t give the Mage the satisfaction of acknowledging him. He’s standing behind Simon, looking over his shoulder down onto the table where books and notebooks lay open amongst dinner plates in various states of eaten-ness. 

“Uh, well-” Simon sputters, clearly caught between wanting to tell the truth or staying silent. 

I watch my knuckles go white around my pen. He hid me in a coffin so my mother couldn’t find me. He did this, he-

“Research,” Bunce cuts in, quickly, factually, and at that moment, I could kiss her. “We’re doing some research.”

I watch the Mage hold his chin between his pointer finger and thumb. “I see…” He trails off, glancing between the current inhabitants of our table. “Whatever on?”

“Timeloops.” She doesn’t elaborate.

“Oh? Any… real world applications?” He sounds unconvinced.

“Curiosity. This is a school, afterall. A place where students’ curiosities are kindled.” She’s not wrong. 

“I suppose so, but it is getting late, and one cannot adequately learn without a good night’s rest.”

A thought strikes me. I’m likely not going to escape the timeloop today, statistically. It will be a pain to reassemble my research team tomorrow, but statistically, the odds say I’m not escaping the timeloop today.

I could do _anything_.

“With all due respect sir,” I start, adrenaline coursing thick and heavy through my veins, I’ve set my book aside, and I’ve crossed my arms over my chest. I look him straight in the eye. “I did not get much _good night’s rest_ in the coffin you put me in.”

The Mage stills, his face transforming into an impassive blank slate, the one he uses at Coven meetings when he’s talking to the Old Families. 

“Mr. Pitch, I have done no such thing. If Malcolm or anyone else had notified us you were _kidnapped_ my men would’ve sent out a search party-”

“What is going on?” Simon says, standing up. He’s holding his hand over where his sword would be.

I don’t know who he’d use it on.

“You were _kidnapped?”_ Niall says, aghast. “What coffin?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Mage,” I sneer. “You had some _creatures_ you likely manipulated into helping you capture me. You know exactly-”

“That is no way to speak about creatures, Basilton. Especially considering your own… condition.”

“Wait, you believed me?” Simon says, turning around to face him. “You know he’s a-”

“Of course I believed you, Simon,” the Mage says. He spits the words. “I’ve known longer than you even have-”

“Because you organized the Vampire attack against my mother. It wasn’t the Humdrum that sent them, it was you-”

“Mr. Pitch, these are lofty accusations. Do you have any basis for any of this?”

“No,” I shake my head, then point at Simon. “But he does.”

Simon looks surprised for a moment, but then his face turns pensive. He’d betray the Mage. For me. That self-righteous, self-sacrificing nightmare. “Natasha Pitch came back to tell me, well Baz, that her killer walks. She told me to tell Baz to bring her peace.”

“During that time, you had me kidnapped. Why else would you kidnap me?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The air begins to fill with smoke. “You _lying, scheming, bastardized, disgrace of a Mage_ ,” I growl. He steps back, his eyes wide and fearful. Good. Let him fear me. “You _coward!_ Give me the truth! Say it-”

“Baz!” I hear someone call out, “stop!”

I pay them no mind, and instead, pull my wand out, and point it at the Mage. “ **The Truth, The Whole Truth, and Nothing But the Truth!** ”

“That’s illegal!” I hear Bunce call out. Too late. The day will reset for me, anyways. 

“I don’t fucking care,” I step around the table and hold the Mage by the lapels of his coat. It’s a disgusting shade of green and it reminds me of Robin Hood. “Did you organize for me to be kidnapped?”

“Yes.”

Everyone has fallen silent. It’s just me, the Mage, and five magical teenagers. Everyone has their magical weapon of choice at the ready, but they won’t need it. 

Not after I’m done with the Mage.

“Why did you kidnap me?”

“I wanted to keep the truth from you.”

All emotions are wiped clean off the Mage’s face as he succumbs to the influence of the spell. All emotions except from his eyes. His eyes are wide and frantic. He’s a deer in the headlights.

“What’s the truth?”

“I sent the vampires to kill Natasha Pitch.”

Bunce gasps besides me. “ _You_ staged the vampire attack! My dad’s been losing his mind trying to find what connects the Humdrum to it.” Of course she’d bring up academia right now, but she has a point. She always has a point. (Why didn’t I befriend her sooner?)

“Yes,” the Mage repeats.

I’ve dropped his lapels, and shoved him away from me. He stumbles, but rights himself.

“What else are you hiding?” Simon asks. “From me,” he adds. He sounds downright betrayed. His voice is small, unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. Beneath that is morbid curiosity.

“I know who your parents are.”

Oh, fuck this. Fuck it all. 

“What?” Simon says, surprised. His sword clatters to the ground as he steps forward towards the Mage, then away. As if he’s afraid of the truth.

“Who were my parents?”

“Lucy Salisbury,” the Mage says, though it sounds strained. The spell must be wearing off.

Fuck this. 

“Lucy Salisbury,” Simon whispers under his breath, reverently. 

_Salisburys were known to be quite gifted with love magic._

I turn away from the Mage and scour through the book pile. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, ripped away from the Mage. I must look insane.

“Lady Salisbury,” a small voice says from besides Bunce. “She’s still alive. Where’s Lucy?”

“I heard she ran away-” Bunce starts, but is cut off by the Mage.

“She’s dead.”

I hear the thud of knees hitting hardwood. 

“Simon!”

“My mum, she’s-” I hear a choked sound come out of his throat, the likes of which I haven’t heard since first year. 

“Fuck,” I mutter as I pull the timeloops book I had in the library back towards me and find my place. It’s going too slowly so I tap my wand on the pages and cast, **“Fine-tooth comb—Salibury!”**

The book flips madly to where I was before. At this point, I can feel Niall, Dev, and Agatha peering over my shoulder. 

_In 1602, Lucindia “Lucy” Salisbury became trapped in a time loop that lasted for three weeks. The cause of the time loop is unknown, but Phillip Plottus Pitch II, distant relative of King George III and Time Loop specialist, speculated that it was likely love based, as many of the Salisburys were known to be quite gifted with love magic._

“Oh… Baz,” Agatha says, putting her hand on my back and rubbing it up and down. She must be thinking what I’m thinking.

I skim through the page until I find another Salisbury.

_In 1603, the same Lucindia Salisbury cast a curse on her longtime enemy, Wilhelm Grimm, who people speculate she’d fallen in love with, though she didn’t know it herself. She claimed she had nothing but hatred for him. The curse caused Wilhelm to enter a timeloop, which he later documented as only escaping after he’d made Lucy fall in love with him, just as he was with her._

_The curse appears to continue through the family tree, as in 1832, Lockheart Salisbury had Percy Percival, his long-time school enemy, trapped in a timeloop for three months. Percy claimed he had to make Lockhart reciprocate his feelings for him in order to escape. They were married soon after and lived to see the end of the nineteenth century._

_The curse only appears to work when an enemy of a Salisbury falls in love. The only way for the person under the curse to escape is by making the Salisbury in question return their feelings._

I slam the book shut and slide it away from me. I don’t even want to look at it. 

I turn away from the table to see the Mage is frozen in place and Bunce has been conducting a thorough interrogation, for fear is written clearly in the Mage’s eyes. 

Next to Bunce, Simon is standing dejected, his sword in hand. He looks barely present, as if the truth didn’t set him free.

The truth imprisoned him.

Oh, fuck this. I rip myself out from under Niall and Agatha’s hands and storm towards Simon, until I’m in front of him. 

“I know how to escape the time-loop,” I tell him.

The light returns to his eyes a bit. “Really?”

“Yes.”

I place my hand around the back of his neck, and pull him in for a kiss.

It’s awkward, and clumsy, and close-mouthed, until it isn’t. His lips are warm, but a bit chapped, and his breath smells like sour cherry scones and roast beef. It’s perfect. And it’s also a beautiful lie.

He’ll never love me. I’m never escaping the time-loop. But at least I can have this.

I wonder what else he would let me do?

“Simon,” I murmur against his mouth. His lips are soft against mine, but I know I’ll have to pull away, eventually.

So, I do. For a moment, I swear he follows me, but it must be my imagination.

I don't wait for him to push me away or yell at me, or do whatever awful thing he's inevitably waiting for me to do. 

I don't look him in the eyes. I turn away from him, because looking at him would be too much to bear.

"Well," I hear the Mage say. The truth spell must have worn off, but we've gotten what we needed. "That was… touching." He sounds a bit off-put.

I wouldn't put it past him to not be homophobic. 

His feet don't move; Bunce must have him spelled to the floor. 

No one says anything. 

No one knows where to go from here. Simon's likely stood behind me, fuming, raging. I don't want to see his face, see the outrage and disgust towards me etched upon it.

Niall and Dev are stood next to each other, looking vaguely proud of me, while Agatha looks mildly pleased. Bunce looks as if she's building a puzzle in her head, as if reexamining every interaction she and I or Simon and I have had. 

"As the practically _democratic_ candidate of the Mage world, I suppose I can't say much about your… preferences, Mr. Pitch, although I suppose your father can't be none too pleased," He seems to be thinking, holding his hand over his sword hilt. 

It's taking every ounce of self-control in my body to not launch myself at him and drain him.

"Well, there's not much to do about all of this, I suppose Mrs. Bunce is likely three seconds away from calling Mitali, that woman has always been… vaguely displeased by me…" 

"No matter, I suppose now all I can do is wait for the Coven to take me away-"

"Shut up!" Agatha screams at him,."Just, shut up!" Her chest is heaving up and down. Next to her, Bunce looks like she wants nothing more than to drive her ring hand through his jaw.

"You're so _evil!"_ Agatha hisses. "You've _manipulated_ Simon for years, and you think we want to listen to your evil monologuing? Shut up!" 

The Mage looks surprised. We all do. I've never heard Agatha so angry, furious. 

"Well, Agatha, I suppose you're right. There is no point for me to explain myself to you… men!" He calls out. In a flash, my wand is ripped out of my hand and flying in the air towards one of the Mage's men. I recognize one of them as Penny’s brother.

"Premal!" Penelope shouts, "what the everloving _fuck_ are you doing?"

"My duty," he says, standing tall, gathering our wands and magical items into his messenger bag along with two other men, each dressed in green coats. Mini-Mages. I go to move, but I’m quickly hit with a **Stand Your Ground** from one of the Mages men.

I try to move my legs in vain. Fuck this. 

I should’ve killed him when I had the chance. Who knows what he’s going to do now. 

"Cheap tricks, Mage," I sneer. “Is this how you treat your students? You’re a disgrace of a headmaster. If my mother could-”

“Well, she couldn’t, could she? Natasha was a speciesist, elitist leader. If your mother were still headmistress, you’d be dead.”

Something ugly twists inside me. Let him step closer to me; I’ll strangle him with my bare hands if I have to. I hear Simon growling from behind me. I bet he’s mad that I'm insulting his precious Mage. He can’t possibly be on my side, even after all this.

“You’re a disgrace,” I repeat, growling. I feel Bunce put a hand on my arm. Maybe to stop me from provoking the Mage, maybe to calm me, maybe to steady me. 

That’s the thing about people: you never know what they’re thinking.

The Mage looks unaffected and raises his wand, pointing at all of us. 

I feel a hand slip a piece of paper into my pocket. 

“Oh,” the Mage says, as if remembering something important. “I’ve always wanted to tell you, Simon. I’m your father. But, I think it’s best if we both… forget.”

Something cold stirs within me as I hear Simon heave out a sob from behind me.

“You’re not my dad!” Simon yells, but it's for naught. It feels like a demented Star Wars scene. It feels like deja vu, in the worst possible way.

I watch the Mage raise his wand. 

**"Let's forget this ever happened."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. 
> 
> (Things will get better.)
> 
> (Maybe.)
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated <333

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for the angst. I swear it gets better! And then worse. But mostly better! 
> 
> Regardless, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. <3
> 
> You can reach me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/panicatthealiceee) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/panicatthealiceee/) and you can reach the amazing artist on [Tumblr](https://theravenpuffpandacorn.tumblr.com/) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/stintinear/).


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